Comment: The Rhinemaidens’ song in this scene sounds very close to Brünnhilde’s love theme at the end of Siegfried, but the commentaries never say so. It’s a hard observation to work into a systematic analysis, so perhaps it’s better left alone. One could always say it is another manifestation of the eternal feminine, and hope that means something.
Hagen and the vassals are heard in the distance, calling Siegfried with characteristic “Hei-hos.” Siegfried answers their call with a “Hei-ho!”
Comment: It was at this point, a good five hours into a most vocally demanding evening, that Wagner thought it would be a nice idea to give the tenor a cute little high C to sing. It is the first note of his “Hei-ho!” and is completely unsupported—that is, it comes out of nowhere as the first note of a phrase. Nine times out of ten it is a complete disaster and elicits a chorus of “ughs!” from the audience! Even if the tenor manages it, it sounds funny. God knows what Wagner was thinking, but his arguments with Unger, the opening-night Siegfried, are well documented. Perhaps Wagner was just getting even.
Hagen and the vassals come to the clearing, asking for news of Siegfried’s hunting adventures. Siegfried shyly admits that he has bagged nothing, although there were some waterfowl he would have liked to catch! They sang to him that he would be slain that very day. He asks for drink, and Hagen hands him a horn, asking if it is true that Siegfried can understand birdsong. Siegfried replies that he hasn’t listened to birds since he has heard women’s voices. He drinks and offers the horn to Gunther, who is strangely grim. To cheer him up, Siegfried offers to sing songs of his boyhood. Gunther accepts the offer.
Siegfried tells of the evil Mime who raised him in envy, and how he was able to forge the sword that Mime couldn’t. The dwarf led him to the forest, where he killed the dragon. Having tasted its blood, Siegfried tells how he understood the bird, who told him to take the treasure and the Tarnhelm, and the Ring, which would make him master of the world! He took the Ring and Tarnhelm, and the bird then told him to beware the evil Mime, who was plotting his death. With one blow of Notung, he slew Mime. What he could not forge, he could still feel, comments the grim Hagen. The vassals ask him what else the bird told him, but Hagen bids him drink more before telling. Into the horn he has put the juice of an herb, which will refresh Siegfried’s memory. Siegfried drinks and recalls the bird telling him that if he crossed the fire around the mountain, Brünnhilde would be his bride. He did as the bird advised and aroused the slumbering woman with his bold kiss, while she embraced him passionately.
Gunther is shocked. Two ravens fly out of a bush and circle over Siegfried’s head, then fly away. Hagen asks Siegfried if he understands what the ravens are saying, because to his ears they are calling for vengeance. He stabs Siegfried in the back with his spear. Gunther and the vassals are aghast, demanding to know what Hagen has done. “I have avenged perjury!” he replies. Siegfried, dying, remembers Brünnhilde, and greets her. He falls back and dies.
Comment: When Siegfried offers to sing of his boyhood, there isn’t one member of the audience who doesn’t think, “Oh, God! Here we go again!” Yes, he goes through the story one more time, singing, as part of his narrative, almost everything the Forest Bird had sung over the course of the second act of Siegfried. Now it’s one thing to hear a lovely and refreshed lyric soprano from offstage singing a pretty tune (it’s also the Rhinemaidens’ original song from Das Rheingold—remember?), but quite another to hear a tenor struggle at the end of the all-time vocal marathon. If the tenor can manage it, and muster the nuance necessary to depict reemerging memory, he is an operatic god. Don’t count on this happening, however.
The vassals put Siegfried’s body on a shield and carry him back to the Hall of the Gibichungs.
Comment: This is the other, more famous “tone-poem” in Götterdämmerung, familiar to many as “Siegfried’s Funeral.” It is not so much a march as a symphonic reconfiguration of themes associated with Siegfried. The famous two chords, played fortissimo by almost the entire orchestra, are one of the great musical depictions of the absoluteness of death. Heard on the radio or in the concert hall, they are impressive and memorable. Within the context of a complete performance of the Ring, they are searingly unforgettable. They entwine with Siegfried’s themes and eventually metamorphose, through barely perceptible gradations of rhythm and tone, into a convincing statement of victory. If your heart does not pound in mournful cadence with this, perhaps the saddest moment of the Ring, well, maybe music isn’t for you after all. It isn’t about grief for the death of Siegfried. You probably don’t care that much about him anyway—who does? The music demands that each member of the audience consider the inevitability of death—their own and everybody else’s.
Act III, Scene 2
Setting: The Hall of the Gibichungs.
Gutrune is alone, waiting for the hunting party to return. Where is the sound of Siegfried’s horn? She cannot sleep. Brünnhilde frightens her. Where is she? Did Gutrune see her walking by the river? From afar, she hears Hagen calling for torches. He brings the spoils of the hunt.
Comment: Gutrune’s solo moment is dark and somber. This is another of Wagner’s attempts to lower the collective blood pressure, so to speak, between climactic moments. Most people find it unnecessary. Wieland Wagner almost started another revolution with his 1965 Bayreuth production when he cut this brief scene altogether.
Hagen enters with Gunther and the vassals, cruelly urging Gutrune to welcome home her hero. The procession enters bearing the body. Gutrune faints. Gunther revives her, but she accuses him of killing Siegfried. He says it was Hagen who did it. Hagen boasts of the deed, saying Siegfried’s life was his since he swore falsely on Hagen’s spear. He adds that the Ring is likewise his by right, but Gunther claims it as his property. They exchange words, the vassals try to come between them, and Hagen strikes Gunther dead with a single blow.
Demanding the Ring, Hagen approaches Siegfried’s body, but Siegfried’s arm miraculously raises itself threateningly. Hagen and the vassals recoil in horror. Brünnhilde emerges solemnly from the background, commanding silence. Gutrune accuses her of bringing disaster upon the house. Brünnhilde calmly advises Gutrune to be silent. Gutrune was merely Siegfried’s lover, but she was his wife. Gutrune curses Hagen for urging her to steal this woman’s husband.
Comment: The “threatening arm” gimmick demands much of the audience’s credulity, but, really, what else could Wagner do to prevent Hagen from taking the Ring off Siegfried’s dead hand? In most productions, Hagen must then stand sheepishly aside and await his own watery demise at the end. Gutrune, likewise, does not move until the end. The hope is that Brünnhilde will hold the audience’s attention sufficiently to make these matters irrelevant. Indeed, if the audience is busy watching Hagen and Gutrune during the subsequent Immolation Scene, the performance is not to be considered a success.
Brünnhilde addresses the assembly in a solemn and commanding voice. Build a funeral pyre by the banks of the Rhine to consume his heroic body. She orders Grane brought in, to follow her and Siegfried in glorious death. She praises Siegfried’s loyalty and honesty in spite of his unwilled deceiving, and asks (to no one in particular) if they know how this could be.
Looking upward, she invokes Wotan, whose guilty gaze she now bids look on her grief. He sacrificed Siegfried to his own cause, and the hero had to betray her so that she could gain wisdom. Does she now understand Wotan’s will? Yes, she understands everything. All is clear to her. She wishes rest for the god.
Brünnhilde takes the Ring off Siegfried’s dead hand and puts it on her own, looking at it thoughtfully. Addressing the Rhinemaidens, she tells them to take their Ring back from her ashes after the fire has purified it, and wash it in the waters of the river. The curse will be broken.
Seizing a torch from a vassal, she tells the ravens to fly home and tell what they have heard here, and, on the way, to pass the rock where she had slumbered and direct Loge to Valhalla, for now is the end of t
he gods. She heaves the torch at Siegfried’s pyre, but says she throws it at Valhalla’s glittering walls. The pyre bursts into flame. The ravens fly away.
Grane is brought in, and Brünnhilde speaks to it as to an old friend. Does Grane know where she is leading it? Does the steed not champ to join Siegfried in the flames, as she does? Her heart burns to embrace Siegfried. Does Grane see? With a war cry, Brünnhilde mounts Grane and they leap into the funeral pyre, telling Siegfried his wife greets him in joy.
Comment: This, of course, is the big soprano moment in all history. It’s listed in Guinness as the world’s longest aria. There is hardly one shade of the human experience that Brünnhilde does not have to depict in this grandest of grand scenas. She is grieving for her love, her life, everything she knows, all of which will shortly pass, yet at the same time she is every inch the heroine, taking a supreme action. Good luck to those who attempt this!
The flames flare high as the Gibichungs recoil. When they are at their height, the Rhine overflows its banks and floods the fire. The Rhinemaidens appear above the pyre. Hagen, as if insane, orders them back from the Ring, and jumps into the water to claim his prize. Woglinde and Wellgunde entwine their arms around him and drag him down to his death in the river. Flosshilde holds the Ring aloft in triumph before the river subsides to its natural banks. A glow in the background increases. The fire around Valhalla is growing. The gods and heroes assembled within calmly await the end. Valhalla crumbles. The world begins anew.
Comment: Obviously, this is no standard “slow curtain, the end” type of conclusion, and what you see on the stage will depend greatly on the specific agenda (and budget) of the production you are attending. Wagner was very clear in his stage directions. The Gibichungs, representing humanity in general, are unscathed by the cataclysm, although their hall has collapsed. The gods have burned up. In theory, we should watch them burn, but very few productions take this literally and we are expected to infer this from the information in the orchestra (Valhalla motif + fire motif = Valhalla burns up). The message as Wagner conceived it was that the passing of the gods is a good thing, inaugurating the new age wherein people and love are the supreme beings. Whatever the production in question is trying to say (see “Productions of the Ring,”), the effect should at least be impressive.
BASICS: WHEN TO EAT, DRINK, AND VISIT THE RESTROOM
Act I of Götterdämmerung is long, famously long. It is often pointed out that the first act of this opera is longer than all of La bohème. While most people agree that this act does hold one’s interest, the fact remains that two and a half hours is a long time to sit in one place. The problem is exacerbated by the fact that it is the first act that is so long. This means that unless you are at Bayreuth or another festival, you will probably be running across town at rush hour to catch a six o’clock curtain. Try to eat something light before the opera begins and plan on another snack at the first intermission.
The real problem is the bathroom situation. Unlike Parsifal, the intermissions for Götterdämmerung are not extended, and you may count on a hysterical crowd scene at the restrooms during the first intermission. If at all possible, take care of this before the opera begins (preferably before you arrive at the opera house), and do not drink diuretic fluids before the first act. That cup of coffee or tea can wait till the next intermission.
Act II is relatively short—just over an hour. If you cannot get near the restroom during the first intermission, judge whether or not you might be able to “bite the bullet” for another hour. The lines will practically disappear.
People don’t usually worry about falling asleep during the second act because it is so intensely dramatic and “in your face.” Remember, however, that the act begins with Hagen taking another of his naps, with appropriately murky music. Those who have eaten or drunk too much at the first intermission will undoubtedly fall dead asleep at this point, which is a shame. That would mean missing the full spectrum of drama Wagner has created in this act, from somber brooding to vehement passion.
Act III is tricky. It’s slightly longer (lasting about an hour and a half) than people expect after the wham-bam second act. Audiences sometimes find themselves in physical discomfort at this point. Just make sure to take care of your bodily needs at the second intermission, and all will go well. There’s no need to torture your body any more than necessary—your nerves will be sufficiently tested watching the tenor and soprano struggling with those throat-busting notes in their respective final scenes.
ROUGH SPOTS AND HOW TO GET THROUGH THEM
Practically everybody gripes about the Norns in Act I, but we have already dealt with them. In any case, the whole damned scene lasts only about ten minutes, and a budding Wagner fan ought to be able to withstand ten minutes of just about anything.
The rest of the first act (all right, Prologue and Act I) is more of a challenge to our physical constitutions than to our attention spans. A great deal happens in this act, and the scenery changes frequently. Having Hagen doze off in the middle is daring on Wagner’s part, but the scene is not long and is delightful in its slinking evil. The Waltraute scene is best approached as pure opera in the grand manner rather than intellectual conflict. Watch to see how well the mezzo (usually aging) projects cosmic despair. Brünnhilde and Siegfried-as-Gunther on the rock make for an exciting and pathetic, if cruel, scene. The only dullness in this part is the strangely uneventful ending, but before you have time to be annoyed by it you will be applauding or running up the aisle toward the restroom, cafe, or bar.
Act II will not give your mind a moment to wander.
Act III, as noted above, is a bit long, but there is certainly enough to hold your attention. The universe burns up, for one thing. Before that, the Rhinemaidens are a delight as always. Siegfried’s scene with the hunting party can be long if it’s one of those dreadful nights when the tenor opens his mouth and nothing—simply nothing—comes out! Conversely, there is sometimes a perverse excitement in the house if one is waiting to see if the tenor will actually die before he is “killed.” Such nights do not provide for great music, but they can make good opera.
The only potential lull after Siegfried’s death might be Gutrune’s little scene. If the soprano is not keeping you riveted during her seventeen lines, just take the time for deep breathing and meditation exercises. You’ll need it for what follows. Perhaps this is what Wagner had in mind in the first place.
Whether or not you find your mind wandering during parts of Götterdämmerung depends largely on your circumstances. If you are attending a performance of this opera alone, much will seem superfluous. If, on the other hand, you are concluding your attendance at an entire Ring, chances are it will fly by with many fewer longueurs. If your Ring tickets are for performances done the way they were meant to be done (that is, all within a single week), you will be amazed at how quickly the time passes. This is the central paradox of the Ring as theater: When seen one opera after the other, the whole seems quite short, economical, and unrepetitive! There is no logical explanation for this, but it is so. Wotan’s monologues, Siegfried’s retellings of his life, and even the Norns all make perfect sense when taken as part of the whole experience. Any veteran of live Ring performances will corroborate this.
LOBBY TALK FOR GÖTTERDÄMMERUNG (WHAT, EXACTLY, HAPPENS TO BRÜNNHILDE AT THE END?)
The great, soaring theme that ends the Ring gives us the final comment on the action. It tells us what we are to make of the whole confusing conclusion. Unfortunately, this theme is, in itself, the source of much confusion. The theme was heard once before: in Act III of Die Walküre, when Sieglinde blesses Brünnhilde before fleeing Wotan’s wrath. She addresses Brünnhilde as “Greatest miracle, noblest woman!” (“O hehrstes Wunder! Herrlichste Maid!”). The theme is broad enough to be memorable, in the hands of a good soprano, but it is not repeated through the subsequent operas until this point at the very end.
For years this was known as the Redemption through Love motif, and there
was a good reason for believing this as its true definition. The program for the Bayreuth premiere of the Ring in 1876 included a guide to the leitmotivs of the work—all two hundred plus of them listed, numbered, and defined. This handy bit of hard science was compiled by a junior associate of Wagner’s named Wolzogen, and he listed this theme as “Redemption through Love.” (It’s number 89, if you’re interested.) Newman and the other great scholars accepted this and dissected it accordingly. After all, Wagner certainly knew of Wolzogen’s guide, and he did nothing to change this entry.
The idea of redemption through love is nothing new. It is the notion that, whatever faults a person may have committed, their love alone is great enough to “save” them. This resonates in Christianity as well as mythology. In opera, it is practically a cliché. It is the basic premise of Tristan (albeit in a very complicated form) as well as The Flying Dutchman and Tannhäuser, not to mention Manon Lescaut, La fanciulla del West, Aïda, La traviata, and a host of other operas rarely compared to Wagner. It is the raison d’être for every whore on the operatic stage, forgiven because of a capacity to love. Perhaps the cue came from the Gospels, where Jesus forgives the many sins of the woman who washes his feet, saying “she has loved greatly” (Luke 7:47).
Wagner Without Fear Page 32